Complete Me, Miserable
by gwendolyn-flight
Summary: Zell and Seifer are together. Where does that leave Squall? Pregame, Squall+Zell/Seifer. Chapter 3-Seifer's POV!
1. I Want You To Want Me

yaoifantasy's challenge:  
Oneshot(?) Pre-game non Au. Zell x Seifer angst.   
  
Seifer's character basically a huge asshole (like always).   
  
He uses and abuses Zell, who loves him dearly.  
  
Zell knows that Seifer doesn't love him, just keeps Zell around because   
Seifer wants sex and basically control over another human life.   
  
Zell + Squall, but Zell never goes with Squall.   
  
NO kissing Squall or touching of any kind.   
  
Zell ~doesn't~ love Squall.   
  
Squall wants to help Zell, but in the end he can't break Zell from Seifer.   
  
Squall and Zell ~are~ friends. Zell knows that Squall wants to be with him,   
but Zell loves Seifer too much. Zell is willing to take all the abuse Seifer   
puts him through. But don't make Zell's character weak.   
  
Squall and Seifer ~never~ gunblade spar, perhaps some verbal exchange,   
but no physical contact between the two.   
  
Seifer ~doesn't~ love Zell. But he likes having total control over Zell.   
  
Squall ~doesn't~ get involved with anyone. (No Nida, Irvine, Quistis, etc)   
  
No happy ending, AND Zell stays with Seifer.  
***  
Disclaimer: Yeah, like they'd be seen with me.  
  
Warning: Pretty graphic self-inflicted violence, and sex in later chapters. This   
chapter R or NC17 for violence and sexual implications.  
  
This is in response to yaoifantasy's(Julie's) challenge, listed above.   
  
*******************************************  
Complete Me: Miserable  
Chapter One: I Want You To Want Me  
*******************************************  
Squall shuffled into his side of the dorm, carefully putting away his gunblade before   
allowing himself to collapse on the bed. He groaned softly, and ran one gloved hand   
through his filthy hair. If he had to kill one more grat he would go insane, he was sure   
of it.   
  
Muffled bass thumped from his roommate's side of the dorm; Zell loved synthmetal,   
the harder the better, and his parents were apparently willing to pay for the cable   
hookup. Squall had never actually seen a 'radio', but he'd heard stories from the   
older SeeD, and the idea of free music sounded glorious.   
  
A lyric slithered into hearing, a low moan of "carve your name into my arm, instead   
of stressed I lie here charmed," that made Squall chuckle wanly and sit up on the   
hard, SeeD-issue mattress. He made his slow-footed way to Zell's door, hoping   
that the younger cadet's boyfriend would be remarkable only in his absence.  
  
Tapping lightly, Squall nudged the door open with his shoulder, and poked his head   
around the frame. A pillow almost immediately flew past where his head should have   
been., and he ducked reflexively.  
  
"Damnit, Squall," came Zell's strained voice. The younger boy had been tied to the   
bed, spread-eagled and naked, and was currently the shade of plum wine. Seifer  
shot a glare at Squall, daring him to laugh, hand poised to reach for another pillow.   
  
Squall sighed, somewhat disappointed. "Like the naked leads the blind," growled   
the stereo, and a tiny smirk curled the corner of Squall's lips.  
  
"Just reminding you that we're supposed to study later," Squall said, averting his   
eyes from the two naked boys.  
  
"Whatever, Leonheart," Seifer smirked, rallying from his coitus interruptus with   
his usual sarcasm. "I think you just wanted to see Chicken Wuss here in all his   
naked glory."  
  
"Hardly," Squall snorted, still not looking at Seifer, more for Zell's comfort than   
his own. "And stop using my line," he continued, turning to leave.  
  
"Keep joking like that and someone might mistake you for human!" Seifer called   
after him, never one to relinquish the final word. Squall rolled his eyes, and returned   
to lolling near-helplessly on his bed.   
  
He'd definitely gotten grat-crap on his gunblade. That would have to be cleaned   
beyond the usual post-battle wipe-down. And his leathers were itchy with the stuff.   
Squall squeezed his eyes shut, and sighed. At least his junctions to Sleep and   
Silence were full. And Shiva was a happy weight nestled somewhere near the   
center of his brain, a frigid presence radiating an unfamiliar warmth.  
  
He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, unwilling to begin the laborious process   
of cleaning his battle gear. The instructors became highly annoying, at times.   
Keeping him in the Training Center until 8pm seemed excessive. For that matter,   
why hadn't Zell and Seifer been at the training session? Were lovers exempt,   
suddenly?  
  
The wall was markedly unexciting: his two other jackets, one leather and one   
uniform, and the empty hanger for the third. A strip of backing for the hanger   
bar. A cubbyhole stuffed with books. He let his eyes drift shut. It wasn't really   
fair to blame their absence on Zell. Everyone knew that Sefier somehow had   
the Faculty in his back pocket, though whether through blackmail or sexual   
favors, or both, no one could be sure.   
  
And Zell was the one who suffered for it.  
  
Not that Squall kidded himself, laying there, exhausted but sleepless, staring   
at an utterly blank ceiling; Zell's moans, penetrating even the music, couldn't   
be taken for anything other than pleasure.   
  
After rucking up the sheets for several minutes, Squall finally heaved himself   
to his feet, and began the lengthy process of stripping down: first to peel out   
of the sticky leather jacket, then the sweat-soaked tee. The belts jangled to   
the floor, and he promptly kicked them under the bed, too frustrated with   
exhaustion to bother retrieving them. Then the leather pants, with a pause   
around his knees to unlace his mother-loving boots and toe them onto the   
blue and beige tiles.  
  
Squall stretched, fingertips reaching for the ceiling until his toes curled against   
the cold tile, ribs increasing their span in a back-arching yawn. He settled back   
onto his heels, sleepily mouthing the yawn, becoming silent just in time to catch   
the tail-end of a screamed name; he sighed wearily, and turning from Zell's wall,   
he gathered up a change of clothes and a few supplies, wrapped a towel around   
his waist, and set out for the showers.   
  
Once the door *shush*ed closed behind him, he settled into his usual mask of   
indifference, and began the infinitely-long pad down the hall. It was worse than . . .   
Well, actually, Squall couldn't think of anything in either his personal history or   
cultural tradition that could possibly be worse than parading mostly-naked through   
the boy's side of the dorms.  
  
The *only* way to make the catcalls worse was to go to the showers still dressed.  
  
"Hey, Squall-baby, lookin' good!" Nida called out, obviously on his way back  
from the cafe, belt loosened and spirits high; that boy could get unaccountably   
surly when he was hungry. Squall ignored him, as per usual, eyes fixed on some   
uncertain point in the distance.  
  
A few more whistles followed him down the hall, but it was fortunately late enough   
that most cadets were studying or preparing for bed. The showers were about   
half-full, the other members of his class lined up tiredly in the billowing steam.  
  
"Hey," Ian said, poking his head from beneath the stream of water. "Good kills today,   
Squall."  
  
Ian Cullahey was a senior classman. He would graduate soon, probably with a high rank.   
  
Anyone would be thrilled to receive even a neutral comment from Ian.  
  
"Whatever," Squall said softly, setting his towel and clothes on a free   
bench.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Ian snorted. "Whatever." A few other cadets laughed, and then they  
all disappeared back into the steam, turning their backs on the dark-haired boy.  
  
It was a bit like being knifed in the lungs, if the knife in question were very small and   
sharp. A sudden, quick gasp, just like that.  
  
Squall gathered up his bath kit and stepped up to a shower head, hand reaching for   
the hot water faucet. The water ran cold for a brief second, then blasted out a gout   
of steam and began to pour out, scalding. The momentary prickle of feeling vanished   
with the heat; Squall blinked, letting his pale skin flush red. Then he opened the cold   
tap, and began lathering his hair.  
  
Grat-crap was nearly impossible to clean out, and Squall cursed as he struggled with   
a particularly bad patch that had somehow penetrated down to the roots. Maybe   
grat-crap's ability to cling was another method of defense . . .   
  
Squall finished with his hair, and moved on to the one reason he even bothered   
showering anymore: green-tea body wash. The stuff smelled absolutely heavenly.   
It was like ambrosia after several hours of both the grat-crap and his own stink.   
  
Measuring out the amber liquid carefully into his palm, he lathered first up and then   
down his right arm, then in sweeping circles to cover his chest and belly, and then   
switching hands he began the other arm, with pauses just to sniff the released   
perfume. His calloused hands were rough on his silk-pale skin, still thin and nearly   
translucent in spite of constant training.   
  
Every fucker on his hall told him he had skin pretty as a girl's.  
  
He swept both hands down his thighs and around to his ass, turning as he went   
beneath the cascade, letting the water rinse him clean. When he was done, he   
smelled exactly like green tea. Exactly like his earliest memories.  
  
He liked the feeling.  
  
Perhaps the others had learned to leave him be during his showers. Perhaps  
they just didn't care. Either way, when he creaked the shower knob to OFF   
and stepped to his bench to towel dry, he was alone. It was quiet with the water   
silenced, with only the occasional echoing drip and the whisper of eddying steam.   
A sink ran briefly in the outer room, the outside door *shush*ed open and closed,   
and he was truly alone.  
  
He towel-dried his tired body carefully, slowly, wanting to delay his return to his   
dorm until Seifer had left. Though able to behave normally-- okay, his behavior   
was only relatively normal, but he tried-- Squall in truth wanted to either freeze up   
or start throwing sharp objects whenever he saw Seifer and Zell together.   
  
It was getting worse, this confused feeling. It came all the time, in the halls, in class,   
not just when he caught them together in bed but when they were fighting in the Quad   
or throwing food at each other in the Cafeteria. It was *always*, and it was becoming   
unbearable.  
  
He was alone. Alone, alone, alone. Not just in the showers. In his life.  
  
He dropped the towel, damp terrycloth falling in folds to the damp plascrete floor,   
and settled onto the bench, still naked. The polished wood was cold in the humid   
air, and chocobo-flesh climbed his thighs and back. He shivered, once, and then   
ignored the chill. It was nearly nine, according to the digital wall stamp; the   
confrontation with Seifer must have taken longer than he'd realized.  
  
With classes beginning as early as six in the morning, he had a reasonable   
expectation of solitude. However, he had learned caution from a number of near-  
misses in the past, and so retreated to a far corner of the shower room, where he   
was hidden by a row of lockers.  
  
He sprawled on the cold plascrete, back against a locker, his shower kit and towel   
arranged ritualistically at his bare feet. His knees were splayed slightly, and he ran   
his fingers across the orderly row of scars decorating his inner thighs, thin white   
lines that sent a shiver straight to his cock when touched.  
  
A child's rhyme echoed through his empty head as he stroked his mementoes, a   
nonsense verse of isolation and earthworms. A shudder crawled up his spine.  
  
It was never enough that they told him what to eat and when to sleep and who to   
fuck and what to think. Then it was how to feel and who to listen to and right down   
to how to cut his fucking hair . . .  
  
So he dressed differently; he could afford to, now. So he let his hair grow; they could   
no longer prevent personal dishevelment.   
  
But it was still 'rules' and 'regulations' and 'toe the *fucking* line' and he was just   
*sick* of it all. They never . . . He couldn't . . .  
  
The razor blade refills were nestled in the very bottom of his kit; they spilled into his   
shaky hands, though Squall Leonheartless *never* had shaky hands, felt nervous,   
showed emotion. He plucked out a single friend, gulping deep breaths to steady   
his fingers as they traced the land of old scars.  
  
It had been days.   
  
This had been building for days.  
  
And Zell and fucking Seifer, he left them naked in Zell's bed, why Zell's bed, why not   
Seifer's, why right there in front of him?   
  
His chin touches his chest, naked skin on naked skin; blood runs copper-bright   
between his thighs, a ribbon of scarlet on snow white skin. His hands are steady,   
now, with the release of sorrow. The blade answers with a wicked tongue, crimson   
drying to brown on blue tile.   
  
After a time, the wall-stamp chimed 'curfew', and the fluorescing lights flickered   
to black. Squall's head came up slowly; he shook chestnut bangs from his eyes,   
his legs moving restlessly as his fingers felt for a tell-tale stickiness, the residue   
of his fix.   
  
His head was clear; a locker banged down the row somewhere, and the cavernous   
room was filled with the echo of running feet. Squall hadn't been discovered.   
  
Assuming he'd even been missed.   
  
He gulped a quick breath, banishing the thought; his new-found hollow wobbled,   
then resumed its inevitable forward march. Carefully thinking of nothing, he gathered   
up his tools and shower kit, letting blood run black down his thighs. It wiped off easily   
enough with a towel.  
  
The faculty would begin patrolling soon; the grace period was strictly unofficial,   
but few teachers punished anyone found on the way to their dorm or trapped in a  
restroom. And he could always claim to be on his way to the Training Center.  
  
So he lingered at a center-aisle sink, lathing warm water over the raw wounds,   
patting each trail dry with his towel, gently, carefully. He paused mid-wound, leg   
propped on porcelain like a girl preparing to shave her calf, and bent forward to   
rest his head on his knee.  
  
What was he doing?   
  
What in Hyne's name did he think he was doing?  
  
A sound tore from him then, a ragged breath nearing a sob; he breathed again,   
and again, not crying. He didn't cry, couldn't cry.   
  
Everyone said so: Leonheartless.  
  
When Squall's head came up, he was outwardly calm again. He ran a soft hand   
over the open cuts, smearing the congealing blood, not flinching at the fizz of pain.  
  
Seifer and Zell would be finished by now.  
  
Seifer would have returned to his own room: he always did.   
  
Squall could retreat into the darkness of his half of the dorm.  
  
He met his eyes in the mirror. His fingertips were stained faintly red, and he ran   
them over his gently parted lips, his pink tongue teasing out, tasting copper. He   
let his hand fall. No wonder no one wanted him.  
  
Squall turned his back on the mirror, letting chestnut bangs hide his eyes. The wall   
stamp read ten fifteen exactly. He let his shoulders rise, fall, in a silent 'whatever',   
and gathered up his things.  
  
The walk down the silent hall was long, and lonely. It was a beautiful night; he could   
see the dim glimmer of stars through the windows and skylights, and could almost   
hear the warm summer breeze that was sure to be ruffling the moor. Crickets and   
other, less innocent insects chirped and whistled in the dark.  
  
He paused at hi door, almost unable to enter, unwilling to find Seifer still there; the   
older student should, according to custom, be long gone, but he'd been known to   
stay for a marathon torture-Zell session. Squall felt the thought shudder through him,   
beneath him. He opened the door.  
  
It was silent, but for Zell's gentle snoring. Squall breathed, and crept into his room,   
past the gaping mouth of Zell's open door. His things were dropped carelessly onto   
the floor, and he crawled naked into bed, feeling almost . . . content.  
  
He could hear Zell's steady breaths as he drifted into sleep.  
  
He'd completely forgotten about helping Zell study.  
***  
  
A/N For unknown reasons, I'm stopping here. Okay, actually this   
should've outlined an obsessive personality(not compulsive,   
mind you. Just . . .tenacious) as well as a tendency to self-punish.   
The graphic nature of this scene will likely NOT be repeated: this   
was the establisher. Well, the pattern has been established. Anything   
else would be overkill.  
  
There are also a number of allusions to everything from songs to  
Shakespeare. Any questions, ask. 


	2. I Love the Way You Love

I know the challenge was a Zell/Seifer + Squall story, but it turned into  
a Squall+ Zell/Seifer all on its own. It just hit me that if Squall didn't  
have an SO of his own, and his friends were . . . occupied with each  
other, he might have more room to drown in melancholy. Especially  
if he were nursing a crush on one or more of these friends. hehe  
Therefore, this next section will be Zell's POV. Maybe I'll write a   
Seifer chapter, too. Who knows?  
  
Okay, I don't think I have quite the same grasp of Zell's voice, but  
I'm gonna give it a shot. :)  
*********************************************  
Complete Me Miserable  
Chapter Two: I Love the Way You Love  
*********************************************  
  
I woke up to the fucking alarm sore and stiff and sticky: not the best way to start   
the day, ever. Especially not with a major test in third period . . . Oh, crap.  
  
"Squall!" I yelled, fighting my way out of the sheets to fall on my face. Damn, tile   
hurts. "Squall! Get your kinky pants wearin' ass out here!"  
  
I was pissed.  
  
Asshole never helped me study last night!  
  
I got to my feet, remembered why I was so sore (and stiff and sticky, yuck), and   
staggered to my open door. Open . . . Bastard! How could Seifer leave me like   
this!   
  
Okay, I know exactly *how*; no matter how he denies it, that blonde prick is even   
colder than Squall. Hyne, I love him.  
  
"Squall!" I yelled again, staying on my feet only because I had a deathgrip on his   
doorway. The tiled floor was cold, really cold, and I shivered. "Squall?" I asked  
the door (closed, of course! That boy is worse than a girl about privacy) as I   
shifted from foot to foot trying to keep warm.   
  
Ooh, but I *was* sore. This was going to hurt later, when we started training. I   
think Seifer an' me were scheduled for an afternoon lesson, well after lunch.   
Seifer knows better than to let me fight at his back when I'm hungry.  
  
"Squall?" I touched the door, planning to scratch it and whimper like a puppy(a   
trick guaranteed to make even Mr. Kinky-pants himself smile); the door swung   
open.  
  
"Hey, man, time ta get up," I said gleefully, stepping into his room. The off-limits   
rule was only in effect when that door was closed. I grinned to myself. And then   
stopped.  
  
Squall's bed had been made, or hadn't been slept in. His room was empty.   
  
Damn.  
  
Grumbling, I dragged back to my own room, and flopped down on the bed.   
  
Ow.  
  
I was gonna *have* to talk to Seifer about being so rough. Okay, not the  
roughness. I like the roughness. But I needed to be able to fight . . .  
  
My stomach growled just then, interrupting what coulda become a screaming   
argument between my hormones and my brain. Not that my hormones ever   
listen to reason.  
  
Anyway, after my stomach reminded me that it was time for breakfast, I went  
ahead and got dressed. My usual skater shorts and tank, of course. Can't have   
anything keeping me from moving while I try to fight. Not like Mr. Kinky-pants at   
all.  
  
Not that wearing a full-length trench ever slowed *Seifer* down. And he looked  
*good* when he fought. *Damn* good. ::Drool::  
  
Back to breakfast. I was just opening the door when Squall burst through,   
wrapped in a towel and still dripping. Didn't he take a shower last night? He   
brushed past like he didn't see me, and of course I followed him. My stomach   
growled again.  
  
"Hey, Squall, what's up?" I asked innocently, and he whirled on me, fast enough  
that I stopped in my tracks, and gave me the Evil EyeTM. I fought the urge to  
keep backing up, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Squall?"  
  
"Not right now, Zell," Squall growled, really, like a big cat, and clutched his shower  
bundle closer to his chest. Damn, but he has pretty nipples; pink, like a girl's.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked. I'm no dummy. I can tell when something's up with   
Angst Boy.   
  
"Just go to breakfast, Zell," Squall said tiredly, like he'd deflated all of a sudden.   
I nodded wisely.  
  
"You should stay in and get some more sleep," I advised him, purposely ignoring  
the dangerous silver glint in his storm-colored eyes. "Me an' Seifer musta kept you   
up pretty late last night," I continued, probably unwisely, as I started to daydream   
about Seifer's big cock thrusting its way to my very soul, it went so deep, and his   
rough hand on my erection, and . . .  
  
Squall was gone.  
  
Damnit! His door closed, nearly on my nose, as I ran after him. I pounded on the  
door, aware that I was repeating myself, but hey, what're friends for?  
  
"Open up, Squall!" I yelled. "This time I *know* you're in there!"  
  
"Go away!" He said, quietly enough that I might've missed his voice had I not been  
nursing a bruised fist. I sighed.  
  
"Stop sulking!" I yelled some more, beginning to wonder if I'd need a band-aid for  
my poor hand.  
  
"I'm not sulking," Squall said, all uber-calm and icy. "I don't sulk."  
  
"Sure you don't, Sulky-Lips," I said cheerfully. Then I sighed. My stomach growled  
again. "Look, I'm going to breakfast. If you aren't down there in ten minutes I'll-"  
  
"You'll what?" Squall growled again, this time sounding really dangerous. I gulped,  
before grinning again.  
  
"Do the naked tango with Seifer," I began, waiting for his response of 'What, again?'  
before continuing, "In *your* bed."  
  
I grinned. Evilly.  
  
"Fine! Whatever!" Squall yelled. I could hear the sounds of him getting dressed.   
Someone should probably tell him that leather squeaks too much for him to sneak   
up on *anybody*. Not that sneaking's his style. . . Not that he doesn't look damn   
fine in leather . . . Not that Seifer doesn't look even better kicking his leather-clad  
ass . . .   
  
I grin evilly. Again.  
  
"See you in the caf!" I yell at the door, not waiting for his grumbled response.  
  
Damn I'm hungry.  
  
I leave our dorm whistling.  
***  
  
"Zell."  
  
"Seifer." I want to launch myself at him and cling to his neck and kiss him   
senseless before stripping him naked, but we have an agreement. In public,   
I have to act all growly and Squall-like. So I growl, "Ready to get your but kicked   
in training, Almasy?"  
  
I almost got him with that one! That was a smile, I saw it!  
  
"The only one getting his ass whupped in this relationship is you, Dinct," he   
taunted, sending those perfect, tigery shivers down my spine. I glared up at him.  
  
"Whatever," I toss off, knowing he'll just die inside, and saunter over to join the  
line. There had better be some hot dogs left. If Squall made me miss out on my  
favorite food . . .  
  
"Stop pretending to be Leonheartless, Zelly," Seifer called after me. "Only the big   
cats can afford not to care. Chicken-wusses need not apply."  
  
"What did you call me?!" I whirled around, forgetting all about hot dogs as I turned  
on Seifer. Heck, I was getting turned on myself. How did no one ever figure out   
that these fights were just foreplay for us?  
  
"You heard me," the bigger boy said, all blonde and tall and muscley. Yum.   
"Go eat your breakfast, Chickie."  
  
"You just wait, Almasy!" I yelled at him as he turned and casually walked out   
the double doors. "I'll get you yet!"  
  
Hyne, I felt like an evil super villain. And how come he gets ta call me pet names  
in public? Ain't fair.  
  
"Good morning, Zell," a voice said, and I turned to find Quistis watching me with   
one raised eyebrow. I shrugged.  
  
"Hey Quisty," I sighed, trying to sound all dejected. And it wasn't that hard. I   
couldn't kiss my lover in public, and Squall still hadn't gotten his kinky-pants  
wearin' ass down here. Grrr.  
  
"Is something wrong, Zell?" she asked, looking nearly as worried as I felt. I just  
shrugged, playing it cool.  
  
"Nah. Just had a run-in with Seifer," I said, twisting the truth a bit. "An' Squall   
forgot to help me study last night, and he won't come down to breakfast and he   
wouldn't talk to me and now I have this test I haven't studied for and--"  
  
"Woah!" Quistis laughed, holding up one hand. "Okay, first, in what class in the   
test?"  
  
"Tactics," I said miserably, hoping the puppy-dog eyes would work on *someone*   
this morning. Quisits gave me an odd look, so I stopped.  
  
"That's odd," she then said, and I resumed the puppy-dog eyes. "That's Squall's   
favorite course. Is he planning to attend this morning?"  
  
"I dunno," I shrugged. "He said he was coming down, but that was a while ago.   
Course, he had ta get dressed, and that can take him a while."  
  
"True," Quistis said absently, as though she were thinking. "Well, to solve one   
problem, let's go over the review for the test, and we might have time for a few   
drills and examples . . ."  
  
"Great!" I grinned, relieved. Tactics has to be my worst subject, after history.   
Put me in a fight and I'm good to go, but ask me to start planning stuff . . . Ick.   
"Let me just get a tray . . ." I continued, grabbing a rectangle of molded plastic   
and clattering it down the row. "Hot dog, please!"  
  
"At seven am, honey?" The cafeteria lady gave me a strange look again. You'd  
think they'd just go with it after a while . . .  
  
"Yes!" I insisted. "That's when they're fresh, and hot, and tasty . . ." Drool is so   
embarrassing.  
  
I left the line triumphant, tray of hot dogs in hand. Quistis trailed after me with  
just a cup of coffee, looking sick for some reason. I ignored her angst happily,  
and settled down to a fine meal.  
  
I love hotdogs.   
  
I was totally blissing out(is that a real word or have I been listening to too much  
TEEN Radio?) when in walks Mr. Kinky-pants himself. He does sulk, I swear to  
Hyne, and one of these days I'm gonna wipe that sulk off his face! If I can ever  
catch him asleep. Too damn fast, otherwise.  
  
"Hey, Squally!" I stood up to yell, knocking my text books to the floor and my  
water all over Quisty. I froze. She glared. Squall came over.  
  
"Don't call me that, Zell," he said, sounding all tired and angsted out. Quisty   
was muttering under her breath as she worked at her skirt with a small paper   
napkin. It was just leaving little white speckles on the cloth; I was just glad I   
couldn't actually hear what she was muttering. I'm too young to be corrupted.   
  
(Evil grin.)  
  
"Geez, sorry, man," I tossed at Squall, sitting back down to my lovely breakfast.  
He glared again. "And what crawled up your ass and died?"  
  
"More a question of what crawled up yours, actually," Squall said, so quietly   
that Quistis couldn't hear him and I almost didn't. Almost. I could feel my jaw   
tightening.  
  
"You wanna saw something, Leonheart," I ground out, fighting to keep from   
jumping to my feet and going for him right there. We were best friends, after all;   
he deserved a chance to explain.  
  
But he just sat there, staring up at me with those cold eyes. Like he didn't care.  
  
Aw, that was it! I was on my feet, bouncing into a preparation kata even though   
he didn't move.  
  
"Say it again, Squall," I said loudly. "You got a problem, I wanna know!" I was just  
about seeing red, and that cold bastard looked like he was . . . I dunno, something  
really cold and still! Hyne, he pisses me off sometimes!  
  
He finally looked away. "Whatever," he said quietly, and I just deflated. Never can  
stay mad for long. Damn, but that apathetic routine gets me every time. Quisty was   
staring at us like we were insane, so I sat back down.  
  
"Do we need to talk, man?" I asked him, worried now that my anger was gone.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"No, Zell. It's my problem."  
  
Cold, like I said. Hell, everybody else calls him the Ice Prince behind his back.   
Not to his face, though. I kicked enough asses to make that point.  
  
"Hey," I protested, picking up a hot dog. "You got a problem, I got a problem.   
We're best friends, right?"  
  
He just looked away, toying with a peeling strip of tabletop.  
  
I sighed, looking over at Quistis. She was doing that 'stare at us like we're   
specimens' thing again. Makes me shiver.  
  
"Well," I dragged out, searching for anything to talk about. "We never did study   
for that test."  
  
Squall's brows actually crinkled.  
  
"Sorry," he muttered, ducking his head to hide his eyes behind jagged bangs.   
Time to tie him down and trim his hair again.  
  
Woah, waitaminute! *Squall* apologized?!  
  
"Sure," I said, slightly stunned. "No problem." And just like that, he dragged  
my Tactics book over and started ruffling through the marked pages.  
  
Cool. Like a fucking icicle.  
  
I very carefully did not look over at dear Quisty.  
  
"No problem at all."  
***  
A/N I'm trying to balance Zell's time between his lover and his best  
friend. In my experience, the best friend is thought about and mentioned  
almost as much, though in different terms, of course. And Zell can  
appreciate Squall's body without wanting to jump him, just like he'll  
probably salivate over Irvine when he shows up.  
  
The title comes from Silverchair's "Miss You Love" 


	3. I'm Supposed to Love You Back

The general consensus seems to be that I'm not following   
the challenge anyway, and I've already gotten one vote in   
favor of hooking Squally-boy up with someone. It's going to  
wind up Squall/Irvine, but please, feel free to chime in with   
your preferences.  
  
This chapter is going to be sort of an interlude, and the next   
chapter will explain the events within this one, and so will take   
place in the time between the last chapter and this. Our boys   
had a VERY busy day. ;)  
  
*******************************************************  
Complete Me, Miserable  
Chapter Three: I'm Supposed to Love You Back  
*******************************************************  
  
Squall's afraid of being left alone.  
  
He'd never admit it, of course. But I remember him crying in the   
rain after his 'Sis' left, wondering aloud why he wasn't good   
enough to make her stay, wondering what he'd done to make   
her leave.   
  
He'd never admit it, even to himself, but since then he's been   
terrified of solitude. You think he couldn't have gotten a single   
dorm? Hyne, he's one of two gunblade specialists in the *world*.   
They would've given him just about anything he asked for. They   
did for me.  
  
But he chose instead to live with Mister Hyperactivity, even though   
he made it seem like a lack of choice with a 'whatever' and a glare.   
But he was craving company, and some part of his GF addled brain   
must have recognized Zell as "familiar".  
  
Oh, didn't think I knew about that? Sure, we aren't supposed to   
have GFs junctioned outside of class, but I practically *expected*   
him to keep at least one.   
  
I told you, terrified of solitude.  
  
That he picked Shiva and retreated into his Ice Prince shell tells   
you just how contrary a fuck he can be.   
  
So the memory loss is the worst in him; Hyne, I even remembered   
his name. I remembered that rain-soaked little boy long after he   
forgot the reasons behind our constant fighting. I remembered.  
  
But then, I actually prefer to do without the GFs. Too much like   
asking for help, and I'd much rather handle things on my own.   
Not that I can't use with the best, but I've seen what abuse can   
do.  
  
Look what it did to Squall. Poor fuck doesn't even remember why   
he can't stand to be alone. No, I have little enough of my past as   
it is; I don't want to forget anything I don't have to.   
  
Zell's forgetting I understand; he left us so long ago, and he actually   
got adopted. He actually had a family to make new memories with.   
And then he met Quezacotl, who seems to love that spiky-haired   
bitch as much as Shiva loves Squall.   
  
So Zell's memory loss makes sense; and besides, it's probably a   
good thing he's forgotten growing up together. As I remember it, I   
wasn't much nicer to him then than I profess to be now. In public,   
anyway. Which I'm not giving up for anything-- Chicken Wuss is   
*pretty* when he's pissed off.   
  
But Squall . . . he forgot because at some point he decided that   
he wanted to.   
  
That's right. He *used* the GFs like a fucking drug to make the   
pain go away.  
  
Except the GFs only got rid of his memories; his pain stayed   
behind, perhaps intensified by his forgotten reasons. All he   
knows is that he hates to be alone.  
  
You can't really heal unless you can remember the wound.   
  
He just goes on like this, living alone and hating every second   
of it, unable to trust someone to stay with him long enough to   
be happy.  
  
So I don't leave him alone. Not that he's happy about my presence,   
usually. He'd just blow me off if I tried a nicer approach, though; he   
may not remember it, but he's always resented Zell's friendship with   
me.   
  
And it has been a friendship.   
  
Sort of.   
  
Remember now, Chickie's cute when he's mad. He might not   
appreciate that, but I certainly do. Always have, always will.   
******  
  
  
I walked down the hall with my usual confident, assertive stride, clinking   
oddly with every other pace.   
  
I had a present for my Chickie. And after the day we'd just had, we both   
deserved a test run.  
  
Zell's room was roaring; I could barely hear something like "Dig me   
now, fuck me later" screaming over his bitchin sound system, too loud   
for coherence.  
  
Why'd the Chickie have to be the only one of us with money?  
  
When I strode through the door, my trench coat flaring artistically, the   
floor and walls were actually throbbing with the bass and occasional   
techno trill. I bet Squallie-boy was loving this.  
  
Indeed, the Tight-Assed One was absent; I feel for the guy, but   
he can be a drag, so I breathed a sigh of relief and advanced   
on Chickie's side of the dorm. I tapped on his door- slightly open,   
good sign- but he obviously couldn't hear me, so I nudged the   
door a bit. It swung wide.  
  
Zell was dancing. Not unsurprising, true; the song had a hard,   
fast beat, and Chickie loves anything involving movement -wink   
wink nudge nudge say no more. He was doing a fast, unstructured   
head banging one-man mash pit around his tiny room, singing   
along to a chorus of "And sing it to the tune of suck it, suck it, suck   
it" into the handle of a broom.  
  
That's right. He was also cleaning.  
  
I leaned into the doorjamb, smiling a bit to myself and raising one   
brow curiously at the words. "I been denied all the best ultra sex,"?   
Hardly a fair charge. I'd thought our sex life quite . . . successful.  
  
Zell had hit the chorus again, and gyrated around to very suddenly   
face me.  
  
He stopped moving abruptly, and I frowned.  
  
He clicked his stereo to 'OFF'.  
  
"Having cyber sex with someone other than me?" I asked him,   
playfully though he probably couldn't tell from my tone.   
  
"Umm, Seifer, we don't have cyber sex."   
  
He's also terribly cute when he's confused.   
  
Which is usually. All the better for me, then.  
  
"You busy?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow again in what I know   
to be an exceedingly effective expression. He grinned, that little   
curl of lip over one canine. Very sexy.  
  
"Not anymore," he grinned, bouncing a little bit on his heels as   
though preparing for a fight.   
  
"Drop the broom," I suggested, and the broom hit the tiles with a   
clatter. I held up the cuffs I'd been holding behind my back. "You   
might want to turn the music back on."  
  
He skinned out of his clothes-- an older pair of his usual skater   
shorts and a tank stained unto death-- before I could even set   
down the cuffs. I had to smile at his enthusiasm; who wouldn't   
approve of a willing worker?  
  
Zell climbed onto his bed, the usual dorm mattress from hell   
with an iron headboard and frame, my addition. He sprawled   
out, face up, all gold-dusted muscle in the harsh dorm lights.   
We look beautiful together, gold skin on gold skin. He was   
singing along to the chorus again, though only mouthing the   
words since I was in the room-- he has a wonderful voice, but   
won't let anyone hear it.   
  
Squall might have heard it, if Zell always sings when he's getting   
dressed.  
  
If so, I might have to kill him. Or Zell. Or both.  
  
I chained Zell to the bed, his arms above his head and linked   
together by the cuffs. I grinned to myself. Chickie'll have a tough   
time straining the bed frame like this.  
  
"Seifer, c'mon!" he whined, pouting at me sexily. As a sort of   
reward I leaned down and nibbled around to one nipple; I paused   
there for a moment, just breathing him in . . . And then bit down.   
Hard.  
  
"Wahhh!" he yelled, startled. I drew back, smugly examining the   
deeply-indented nub of flesh, watching the blood flow back into   
the tip. His chest was heaving, and he'd started out in a sweat.   
He was also glaring at me. "What in Hyne's name didja do that   
for?" he demanded.  
  
"You taste good," I purred, hoping to worry him. It worked.  
  
"No more eating me!" he said fervently. "Back to the sex!"  
  
"Absolutely, Chicken," I said. I was smiling. He wasn't. He   
tensed when I mouthed near his nipple, but I just licked the   
abused flesh, and leaned back to watch him shudder.  
  
"Seifer," he whined, writhing prettily.   
  
"What," I sang, mocking his tone of voice. Now he was pouting.   
I love this!  
  
"Could you please *get on with it*!" he yelled, flexing his hips   
insistently.  
  
Apparently danger makes him as horny as it makes me. Good.  
  
I yanked his legs down and apart, just to watch him grind his ass   
into the blankets, and worked a hand down between his thighs. A   
light sweat had sprung up on his gold-dusted skin, and I used that   
and a little spit to work in a finger.  
  
Don't try this at home kiddies. Lube is for safety. What we do . . .   
is for fucking idiots. In every sense of the words.  
  
Zell moaned, and pressed down against me; my wrist was starting   
to hurt at the angle, so I scooted closer to his end of the bed, so   
that I was cupping his scrotum in my palm and working my fingers   
in below that. He apparently approved, as he started moving about   
desperately in a pathetic attempt to hump my arm.  
  
I worked in a third finger; his face twisted, but I was fondling his   
prostate, so it could have been pleasure or pain or both. Either way,   
I had no intention of slowing down. He's just as pretty hurt as mad.  
  
His perfect white teeth closed on his pouty lower lip, and I had a   
sudden flash of//  
  
broken white splinters of bone   
spit blood   
dripping on snow   
from a bow-shaped mouth  
  
//and gasped. My fingers must have twisted in response to the vision,   
because Chickie moaned and thrust upwards desperately. I held him   
down with my free hand, splayed broad on his belly, a worried frown   
wrinkling my brows.  
  
These visions were coming more often, now.  
  
Now working my fingers in a slow thrust, I ducked my head down into   
the junction where shoulder meets neck, drinking in the sweat-scented   
skin there, licking a broad strip up to his ear so that he shivered and   
laughed..  
  
"Stop, Seifer," he muttered, still gnawing that pretty lower lip. I couldn't   
watch. "Just get on with it!"  
  
I smiled. I'm sure it was a cruel curling of the lips, just enough to bare   
fangs; Zell calls it my sexy grin. I never bother to argue. I kissed the   
skin I had just licked, feeling a tendon thrum beneath my teeth and I   
bit down.  
  
Zell squalled, pun intended, and bucked up onto my fingers. I pulled   
them out roughly, keeping my teeth clamped in his sweet flesh, feeling   
the blood rise to meet my teeth as I threw one leg over his writhing   
hips. I love the writhing. I got one knee beneath his thigh, pushed the   
other aside carelessly until he rested partly on top of me, and thrust   
home.  
  
He squalled again. My teeth had broken through those first delicate   
layers of flesh, as my cock had sunk into his innards. He bucked,   
and I bit him again, wanting him still and compliant as I battered   
into him. He loved this.   
  
Always had.  
  
That infernal music was still playing, and I released his mangled   
shoulder to take his mouth, roughly, biting at his lips until we both   
bled crimson, coppery tang of life in the close and humid air. The   
roar of the T-rexaur was far from here, sunk in his own blood. Zell   
was sobbing, and I keened, teeth snapping closed on his throat   
as I came, shuddering.  
  
Everything was dark, and still. After a time, Chickie mewed, and   
I worked a hand between us to pull at his erection until he arched   
and screamed and came. Then darkness again.  
  
"Hey, Seifer?" Zell said, hoarsely.  
  
"Yeah, Chickie?" I asked, not opening my eyes.  
  
"We're getting sticky."  
  
"Shut up, Chicken Wuss."  
  
"Don't call me that!"  
  
"Sure thing, Chickie."  
  
Then black.  
  
******  
  
We were lounging, sweated out on Zell's cotton-blend sheets, when   
he of the kinky pants returned.   
  
"Zell?" Apparently Chicken had put our song on repeat, for when   
Squall's head popped in our door it was to the tune of "I love 'em   
when they don't give a mutha fuckin' shit". "What are you listening   
to?" the brunette asked with his distinctive look of disdain.  
  
"Umm, Shiva's Bitch," Zell murmured sheepishly. I rolled over to   
look at him, raising one eyebrow.  
  
"Seriously?" I asked.  
  
"Not another one," Squall muttered, shaking his wet brown hair and   
ducking back out of sight. Wet? How many showers did that boy take?  
  
"What was that about?" I wondered, staring after him.  
  
"You don't know?" Zell squealed, sounding utterly delighted. "There   
are like ten bands named after Shiva: Loving Shiva, Shiva's Influence,   
Shiva's Lover, Shiva's Bitch, umm, there are more, I just don't listen to   
them."  
  
"That's . . . bizarre," I muttered, wondering why my sword or something   
equally cool didn't have band-groupies. A GF? GF's aren't cool.   
Memory-sucking devils . . .  
  
"You okay?" Zell asked; I returned my attention to Chickie, grinning   
lazily.  
  
"Not as good as I'm going to be," I said suggestively.   
  
"Again?" Zell squeaked, surprised but apparently pleased.  
  
"This music is making me horny," I rumbled, crawling to cage him on   
all fours, doing a push-up until my chest just touched his. "You?"  
  
"Me?" He squeaked again. "I'm good to go!"  
  
"As always," I chuckled, letting it rumble through our chests. I felt   
so *good* when we were together! Like rolling in sunshine or a   
blanket fresh from the dryer. Warm and fuzzy.  
  
What?   
  
I'm not allowed to want warm and fuzzy?  
  
***  
A/N The song misquoted is actually "Faggot", by Mindless   
Self Indulgence; chapter title taken from "Miss You Love" by   
silverchair. 


End file.
